By the hut's wall, he cradled her in his lap, her jhumaka-laden ear dancing to his rhythmic heartbeat's melody. Silver moonbeams bathed them in a gentle radiance. In the distance, the lazy ocean hugged the shore—a soothing serenade, contrasting the emotional whirlwind. Her long tresses cascaded like a shadowy waterfall over his thighs, mingling with the sands, creating an intimate tableau.
In this fleeting moment, with each of his dark whispers, Pallavi began shedding her role. No longer just the dutiful wife, nor the proud daughter—safeguarding generations-old values through a sequence of roles. His black hands were unfurling her yearning. She discovered rare strength within her vulnerability.
Her head tilted, his lips warm, like a quivering sun on her fingertips. Her heart trembled like a captive bird's. Their gaze met. Her once-veiled eyes now searching his for answers she couldn't put into words.
All she could see in his dark eyes was a simmering fire—an answer to her every question, hanging between their lips. A crimson hue lingered on her cheeks, and her eyelid fluttered. In the next blink—he was gone.
She found herself back in the lethargic bedroom, surrounded by familiar snoring.
"Pity you, dreamer…!" shaking her head, she embarked on yet another mundane day.
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Hello readers,
I'm Pallavi, a 34-year-old middle-class Indian wife settled abroad, excited to engage with people here. Let's see what Liteortica has in store for me, beyond those cliche questions.
Gender
Female